


Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 5:  Cotton Candy-Flavored Freckles (Dean/Castiel)

by squeemonster



Series: Comfort Food [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:29:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeemonster/pseuds/squeemonster





	Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 5:  Cotton Candy-Flavored Freckles (Dean/Castiel)

**Title** :  Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 5:  Cotton Candy-Flavored Freckles  
 **Rating** :  NC-17  
 **Pairing** :  Dean/Castiel  
 **Word Count** :  5558  
 **Notes** :  Part 5 of my Comfort Food series.  This series is not in chronological order, it's just different scenes from the lives of those in Team Free Will, focusing on the relationship between Dean and Cas. Set after the events of season six, Castiel is now fully human and hunting with the Winchesters. Many thanks to [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) **zatnikatel**  who whipped my writing into readable shape and makes me laugh and helps with the ~sexy stuff.  
 **Summary** :  In which Dean perfects his apology techniques, remembers how hot it is when Cas takes control, and tries to teach Cas the joys of carnival food.   
 **Extra Special Note** :  The song that Cas is obsessing about and considers to be his and Dean's song is "Such Great Heights," by The Postal Service. 

 

_September, 2011_

The road is dusty, gritty, and endless.

They’d gotten up before first light, wanting to get an early start so that they could be in Wyoming by nightfall. Another hunt, another person, or family, or world to save. Same ol’ shit, different day and town. Dean behind the wheel of his baby, Sam piling into shotgun, and Cas sliding in the backseat, his eyes drowsy and half-lidded, not needing them open for Dean to know his friend wants nothing more than to curl up with his jacket under his head on the seat so he can drift back into slumber.

Cas is still trying to get the hang of this whole sleep thing, and Dean knows the nightmares he has almost every night but refuses to talk about aren’t helping to get him acclimatized. So he and Sam both cut Cas a lot of slack if he ends up sleeping these early mornings away in the back seat while they’re having to stay frosty to drive or read directions.

Dean finds his eyes frequently flick up to the Impala’s rearview mirror as he’s driving. He watches the road fall away behind them, and he waits to see Cas wake and sit up. Sometimes it’s only a few minutes after they’ve hit the road, sometimes it can be hours. As much as he likes it when he’s awake, Dean prefers the days when a long time has passed before Cas makes an appearance in the mirror. Those days mean he’s gotten a decent amount of sleep, finally.

Cas does sometimes sit shotgun, with Sam taking the back seat. Usually it’s when Sam’s giraffe legs are feeling cramped and he wants to stretch out in the back for a while. And Dean likes having Cas next to him in the Impala, likes being able to reach out and grab his knee or run a hand up his thigh. He likes how his body is so fucking _aware_ of every move Cas makes.

But he almost likes it more when Cas is in the back seat, because then he can look at him as much as he wants and Sam is none the wiser. They can share private, knowing glances, Cas’s eyelids hooded as he licks his lips, reminding Dean of how those same lips had sucked bruises on his hipbone the night before. He likes it when Cas looms up behind him after Sam has fallen asleep curled up against the passenger door, and how he slides his fingers through Dean’s hair, smearing the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and then leans in closer so Dean can feel his breath there before he presses kisses to the knob of bone at Dean’s nape.

Dean feels closer to him in these quiet moments on the open road in his car than he’s ever felt with anyone in his life, aside from Sam.

This morning is the same as so many other nameless mornings of late. Dean watches the sun rise behind them in the mirror as they head west, promising to bleach out the dry landscape with another day of unrelenting heat. Cas doesn’t wake up until the sun’s fully cleared the horizon. One minute, the back seat looks empty and cold, the next finds him sitting up, creases from his jacket marring his sleepy face, his hair sticking out in every direction as if it’s reaching out for a way to escape.

Dean stares at the mirror until Cas meets his gaze, and then he smiles and winks. Cas gives him a tiny, grumpy, reluctant smile in return, and reaches over the seat for the thermos of coffee that Dean is handing to him. It’s a morning ritual on the road that they both take comfort in, needing what normality they can find wherever they can find it.

He watches as Cas takes a few sips of coffee, then settles the thermos between his thighs as he reaches for his cell phone, unwinding the cord attached to it and settling the earbuds in his ears. That phone was the result of one of the many arguments they’ve had. Dean blames Sam. Sure, he usually tends to blame Sam for everything that goes wrong, from the apocalypse — which is just his way of deflecting how much he actually blames himself for everything apocalypse-related — to the constant funky smell in the Impala.

But this fight really was Sam’s fault. It had been one of the few times Dean had let Sam drive. And since Sam was driving, he got to listen to whatever music he wanted. And of course, Sam wanted to listen to some alt/indie/folk/new rock crap station. And, Dean’s luck being what it is, Cas ended up liking the music. No, scratch that — he practically fucking jizzed all over the back seat as he was listening to that music. Dean was about ready to punch Sam in the side of his face for introducing him to it.

After that day, Cas was endlessly badgering Dean to find another station like it. He just did not understand the concept of _driver picks the music_. Sam would sit quietly, doing his best to cover up his cackling while Cas would ask over and over for Dean to change the station like a fucking kid pestering him with a constant, looped _are we there yet?_ Dean gave in every once in a while, just to shut him up, but then he’d have to listen Cas complaining about them never playing this one song he’d heard the first time that he loved so much.

Then, one day after Dean had given in and switched the station like the giant pussy he is, the song Cas had been dying to hear again came on the radio. Cas yelled, “That’s it! Turn it up!” so loud that Dean almost swerved into oncoming traffic. Once he’d increased the volume, the song that he heard was really... girly.

“Seriously, Cas? _This_ is the song you’ve been obsessing about for weeks? It’s kinda fruity. I don’t even hear any guitars in it.” Dean had chuckled and shaken his head, looked into the mirror to find Cas shooting the back of his head a steely, cold glare.

“It’s a beautiful song, Dean,” he’d declared loftily. “It reminds me of us. It is so uplifting that when I listen to it and close my eyes, I can almost pretend I’m flying.” And then he’d paused and looked through his window at the trees passing by. “I have found very little so far that can give me such a close approximation to what I have lost, but that can also remind me of what I’ve gained. I find comfort in it.”

Sam had turned to look at Dean and mouthed, “You’re an asshole” at him.

 _Yeah_ , he thought. _I really am_.

Later that day, Dean had stopped off at a Best Buy and got Cas his own phone, one that he could load up with his favorite music. And that evening, Cas got the best fucking blowjob that Dean’s mouth could offer. Say what you want, but Dean Winchester fucking _knows_ how to apologize.

 

 

*********************************************************

 

_March, 2012_

Dean listens as Cas sighs on the bed beside him. The mattress dips as he rolls over, and Dean feels the sheets being tugged and ultimately thrown off in frustration.

The sex they had earlier worked to relieve some of the adrenaline they’d built up from the hunt that’d almost ended them all _again_ , but it hasn’t worked off enough tension to allow either of them the sleep they so desperately need.

Dean is lying on his side, his back to Cas. As much as his own sleeplessness bugs him, watching Cas struggle with it makes him ache with the desire to fix it, make it better. It’s annoying to feel like he could and should be helping, but over the past months Dean has found he’s grateful for it. With Sam getting better as each day passes, it’s become obvious that their relationship is changing. Sam isn’t Dean’s responsibility anymore, doesn’t need Dean taking care of him. And that’s a _good_ thing. It doesn’t mean they’re any less close, or care any less for each other, or _need_ each other any less, it just means that how they need and rely on each other is changing, and for the better.

Dean from a few years ago would have been having a cow over this revelation. Taking care of people, especially Sammy, is who he _is_. It makes him feel needed and worth something. It gives him purpose. But now there’s Cas. Not that Cas is some damsel in distress or helpless child in need of protection. Not in the least. Cas is stubborn, strong, capable, probably wiser and smarter than the entire population put together.

And he’s definitely no damsel, as he proved to Dean earlier this evening. As soon as they’d stepped into their motel room after the hunt, Cas had slammed the door behind them, not even giving Dean the chance to turn around before roughly shoving him against the wall. He’d pulled Dean’s shirt up and over his head, then spread his hand between his bared shoulder blades, pinning him in place while he reached around and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding his fingers in there and squeezing Dean’s already half-hard dick through his boxers, before yanking his pants and underwear down to his ankles.

Cas had pressed himself against Dean’s back and maneuvered his hand between the wall and Dean’s chest, and then he’d rubbed a thumb across Dean’s nipple, squeezing it until Dean whimpered. “The entire time we were at that warehouse tonight, all I could think about was this,” he’d whispered. “Having you. Running my hands all over your body.”

Dean shivers now, as he recalls Cas ghosting his fingers around his ribs and down to the small of his back, the sensitive skin trembling under his touch. “Having you open before me, needing me inside you as much as I need you,” Cas had murmured then, as he ran his hands down and along Dean’s wrists to his hands, threading their fingers together. He’d pulled at Dean’s arms and spread them out along the wall as he lined his body against him, then guided his arms up to rest against the wall above his head, and Dean had groaned as he felt Cas’s erection through his jeans, taking some perverse thrill in being bared and so vulnerable while Cas was still fully clothed. Cas had responded instantly, pressing himself harder against Dean’s ass, leaning in and nipping his earlobe before whispering, “Do you need me, Dean? Is this what you need?”

Dean replays it now all in his head, and it’s like triple-X, the moan that escapes his lips, _fuck, Cas, yes_ , his breath hot and raspy where his cheek and the side of his mouth are pressed against the wall. _You know I need this…_

Cas had grabbed Dean’s head and twisted him around just enough so that he could kiss him hard, sloppy and wet and so fucking dirty, before biting his lip and pulling away. “Don’t move,” he’d breathed into Dean’s ear, as he reached to the nightstand and tugged open the drawer, pulling out the tube of lube. Dean’s cock had twitched as he listened to Cas unzipping his own jeans, his body shuddering when his friend returned and began planting kisses along his shoulders, leaning up to nuzzle at Dean’s nape before licking a trail slowly down his back. Dean had gasped as he felt his friend’s tongue skitter along his butt crack, before hands were spreading him open. Cas’s wicked tongue had teased its way around his hole for what seemed like an eternity before licking its way in, and Dean had squirmed and whimpered at each slick stab and lunge before Cas pulled away, and then he’d waited, his breath escaping in short bursts as he braced for Cas’s next onslaught, whatever it would be.

Dean had tensed, and then forced himself to relax as he felt a lube-slicked finger pressing at his entrance, and Cas had slowly, _so damn slowly_ , pumped his finger in and out before adding a second, then a third. Dean could hear Cas panting even above the noise of his own heavy breathing, and after a few seconds Cas had withdrawn his fingers and began rubbing the head of his cock along Dean’s crack. Dean could feel the wetness of pre-come as Cas had slicked his cock between the cheeks of his ass, forcing out a groan from deep within his throat. “Cas, _please_.” At this point, the embarrassment of begging for it was the least of Dean’s concerns.

“Please what, Dean? What do you want?” Cas had mocked affectionately, but Dean could tell Cas was just as desperate for it as he was, his voice thready and wet against his skin.

He’d gritted his teeth and pushed back against Cas. “I want you to fuck me, Cas. Stop being such a fucking tease!”

Cas had chuckled behind him, the laughter followed by the obscenely wet sound of him slicking his cock up with lube before he’d grabbed Dean’s hips, pulling him away from the wall and kicking at his ankles to force Dean to widen his stance and give him easier access. Dean had felt pressure from the head of Cas’s cock at his entrance, then exhaled as he was being breached, doing his best to relax so the initial pain would turn to pleasure as quickly as possible. Cas had leaned his forehead against Dean’s shoulder once he was completely sheathed inside him, moaning and mouthing against Dean’s skin. He’d grabbed Dean’s hips then, pulled back until he was almost completely out, then rammed in again, hitting Dean’s prostate like a fucking shock wave.

Dean had cried out, and that seemed to light a fire under Cas, who began to fuck him in earnest. Dean had known right then that he was going to last about as long as a twelve-year-old thumbing through his first girlie mag. He was so painfully hard that he’d paddled a hand down to grip his own cock, unable to resist the need to be touched, but Cas had reached around to slap Dean’s hand away as he tried to jerk himself off. He’d grabbed a hold of Dean’s cock himself and pumped it in time with his thrusts, rough and hard. Just when the dryness of his calloused hand was starting to become too much, he’d let go of Dean’s dick, held his palm up to Dean’s mouth and growled, “Lick.”

Dean had almost come right then at hearing that gravelly voice so harsh and demanding, at Cas’s breath husking against his neck and in his ear. He’d done as he was damn well told, and Cas had resumed his ministrations to his cock, stripping him faster, until Dean’s entire pelvis ignited and he cried out and came over the wall in front of him. He could feel his ass clenching around Cas’s cock with the spasms, causing Cas to groan and grasp his hips. Cas’s thrusts had become faster and erratic, fingers gripping Dean’s hips so hard that he’d almost wondered if there was enough angelic mojo still in him to crush the bones. But Dean hadn’t cared, because he likes it when he’s so sore he remembers their fucking for days afterwards.

Lying in bed and remembering these events from just a couple hours ago, reveling in the soreness and rawness he’s sure to feel for days, Dean smiles to himself. Yeah, Cas could never be confused for some poor helpless thing in need of saving or protection.

But at the same time, Cas does need to be taken care of. He could get by without Dean there to guide him in the ways of humanity and getting by in the world. But what he needs is to feel someone is there for him. Unconditionally. He needs to feel like no matter what, someone’s got his back. He’s never had someone who gives a shit about whether or not he gets enough rest, or if he’s eaten, or who cares enough to ask him why he’s in such a pissy mood, or who loves him enough to make him laugh just so he’ll feel better.

And that’s why Dean is more convinced than ever that God, or who or whatever is responsible for Cas being in his life, planned this all along. Not that Dean no longer believes in free will—he just thinks there are some things, _good_ things, that really are supposed to happen. Dean got Cas back just when he was needing someone else to take care of and focus on, and Cas returned to Dean just when he was needing someone to take care of him the most.

Sure, it’s slightly dysfunctional, but what relationship these days _isn’t_?

So he listens as Cas flops around in bed again and punches his pillow, and then he clears his throat before whispering, “Hey Cas, come over here.”

Cas sits up in bed. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

Dean looks over his shoulder and grimaces. “No man, I can’t sleep, either. Just... come over here and lay back down.” His lip curves into a half-smile. “I’ll be the bean tonight.”

He turns his back on Cas and listens to him sigh and scoot across the bed. The next moment he feels Cas slot his body up against his own, wrapping one arm under his waist and the other over and across his chest, kissing his shoulder before laying his head down on the pillow behind Dean’s. He arches his back a tiny bit, just enough to feel Cas’s boxer-clad groin against his butt crack. Cas huffs in amusement behind him, causing the tiny hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck to stir and making him shiver in response. He’s not looking to go another round with him yet, he just likes the way the pressure of Cas’s dick feels against his ass. He exhales as he lets Cas slide a foot between his ankles.

He’s found, after many sleepless nights, that the best way to get Cas to fall asleep is to provide physical proximity and comfort (he refuses to use the word “snuggle”), and to get him talking. Not about anything earth-shattering or apocalypse-related, just get him to whisper about things that interest him, or things he wants to try, or places he’d like to see. What Dean really wants to ask him about right now, though, isn’t necessarily something that will be soothing. But it’s something he suspects has been on Cas’s mind lately, so Dean’s thinking that maybe if he gets it off his chest it might help him relax a bit.

He squeezes the hand that’s stroking his ribs. “What do you miss most about being an angel?”

He hears a soft intake of breath as the hand across his chest stops moving. “Why would you ask that?”

“I dunno. It’s just... sometimes when you’re looking out the window in the car, or when you think no one’s looking, you seem sort of sad. Like you’re missing something. I thought it might have to do with that.” Dean knows he’s walking a precarious line with this. He doesn’t want to cause Cas more pain by making him talk about it, but he really does think it’d be better to get it out in the open.

They lie in silence for several minutes, and Dean thinks maybe Cas fell asleep, or is upset with him for asking. But then he feels Cas’s hand start idly stroking his chest again, and hears his friend take a deep breath as he slides ever closer to him and whispers against his shoulder, “I miss flying.”

And that pretty much breaks Dean’s heart for the guy. He can’t even fathom how much it must suck to be able to do something like that for thousands of years and to know he’ll never be able to do it again. To be grounded and practically shackled by gravity, never being able to escape if the situation called for it, always having to rely on clumsy legs and and man-made modes of transportation that will never be as convenient and freeing as your own wings.

Dean squeezes his hand, then rolls over so that he can face Cas. He doesn’t pull away, chooses to stay just as close as they were, their foreheads touching and legs tangling between each other as he slides his hand between them to thread his fingers with Cas’s. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Cas’s brows knit with confusion. “Why would you be sorry? It’s not your doing.” His breath skates along Dean’s face as he speaks, tickling his lips.

Dean leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his friend’s mouth. “I know. But I’m sorry you can’t have that anymore. I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

A faint smile crosses his lips. “Dean, no matter how much I miss flying, it will always be worth losing it. I will never regret it. I would give it up a million times over, without any hesitation, for this.” He leans forward and returns Dean’s kiss, deepening it into something a little less chaste.

It would be a couple more hours before either of them got any sleep that night, but this time it was for far more pleasant reasons.

 

*********************************************************

 

_June, 2012_

 

“But why are we going to a carnival, Dean?” Cas inquires testily, for the _nth_ time. “I asked Google what it was, and it sounds to me like a waste of money and time. And the food described did not seem appealing at all.”

Dean sighs. He knew when he’d broached the idea of visiting the carnival that it’d be questioned, but he’d had no idea it’d be like the Spanish fucking inquisition. Then again, he muses randomly, nobody expects the Spanish fucking inquisition.

“Also, it said the rides are unsanitary. And the workers are untrustworthy.” Cas sits in the shotgun seat of the Impala, staring straight ahead and brooding as Dean drives down the dark highway towards the local fairground. He’s been in a pissy mood for a few days now, mostly because Dean banned him from driving the Impala until he gets more training on a clunker from Bobby’s junkyard. No one with a lick of sense could blame Dean for doing so. Cas had almost wrecked the Impala three times within five minutes of his first training session.

Dean can be patient, and he loves the guy, but his baby will always come before Cas’s wounded pride and non-existent braking skills.

“Dude, I don’t care what the Internet says,” he parries. “Carnivals kick ass They’ve got all kinds of food on a stick, they fry everything, and after you stuff your face you go on the rides and puke it all back up. What’s not to love about that?” He watches Cas out of the corner of his eye, and is rewarded with a look of utter disgust and disbelief.

“How is that in any way fun?” Cas props his elbow on the door and lays his cheek against his fist. Dean has always been impressed with Cas’s sulking skills, but the guy is outdoing himself tonight. He hears him mumble under his breath, “Sam was right, I should have stayed home.”

Dean scoffs. “Sam’s a pansy-ass! The only reason he didn’t come is because he’s scared of clowns, the friggin’ baby.”

He pulls into the gravel parking lot, and is relieved to see that the crowd isn’t too big. Carl had told him that Tuesday night was the best night to do this, and the man wasn’t lying. “Now, shut your pie-hole and let’s go find us some food,” he continues. “If we’re lucky, maybe they’ve just changed out the oil vat. I hate it when they’re using two day-old grease to fry shit up, makes it nasty.” He grabs his wallet and jumps out of the car, making sure to lock the door behind him.

Cas opens his door and unfolds himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him. “Yes,” he snipes thinly. “Because that’s the only thing that would make it taste _nasty_.”

Dean looks over his shoulder as he walks up to the ticket booth. “Hey, lookin’ good on the sarcasm lessons there, little buddy.” He grins as Cas rolls his eyes at him.

They stroll together through the first row of booths, watching as little kids play at the duck pond and ping pong games, and they each take a few turns at skee ball and ring-the-bell. Dean gives the stuffed animals that he wins to the kids hanging around each booth, and Cas follows suit, though he considers keeping a penguin for himself until Dean laughs at him.

Once they make their way to the food court, Dean drags Cas over to the food-on-a-stick booth. Cas is less than amused, but he ends up getting a corndog with cheese fries anyways. Dean buys himself a sausage encased in sweet doughnut bread on a stick. Grease and cheese ooze out of the top of it, mixing with the sweet sticky goodness of the glaze on the doughnut. Dean is in heaven, and Cas looks as if he’s going to throw up just watching Dean eat it.

They gulp their sodas down and head off towards the rides. Cas begs off of riding anything at first, still clinging to his bad mood. Dean tries out the swing rides and slingshot without him, then leads them both off towards the rock-and-roll ferris wheel, stopping on the way to get them a couple of bags of cotton candy. The wheel is lit up with thousands of blinking lights and rock music is blaring as it spins, but that’s about the only thing making it anything more than just a regular ferris wheel.

Dean walks up to the man in charge of the ride, who’s standing at the gate and monitoring everything. “Carl!” he hollers above the din of the music.

The large, bearded man turns around and smiles when he sees Dean. “Hey man! How’s it goin’?” He reaches out a hand to Dean, and they do the handshake/one-armed hug that men of a certain age are so fond of. Cas stands back as they exchange pleasantries, munching on his bag of cotton candy. After a few minutes of catching up Dean looks over his shoulder at him.

He turns back to Carl. “So uh, everything set like I asked?” He bites his lip, watching surprise cross his friend’s face as his eyes flit to Cas and back to Dean.

“This the ‘friend’ you were talking ‘bout?” There’s a smirk on the man’s face that makes Dean bristle.

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” He knew he should have told Carl the whole deal ahead of time, he just didn’t know how.

But the man just laughs warmly and claps him on the shoulder. “Shit, naw, man. I don’t care what floats your boat. Life’s too short for me to be worryin’ ‘bout where you stick it. Besides, you done enough for me to make me more than willin’ to overlook it all even if I did have a problem with it.”

At that, Dean takes a deep breath and releases all the tension he was holding onto. “Awesome. So, we’re good then?”

“We’re more than good. I figure I still owe you about a thousand more of these favors before all’s said and done. So whenever you’re back around, you just give me a call an’ at least lemme buy you a beer or somethin’.” He turns to get back to his job. “You just gimme ‘bout five more minutes to get these people off the wheel, then we’ll be good to go.”

Dean makes his way back to Cas, who’s looking at him suspiciously. “What was that all about?”

Dean leads them over to the chain link fence surrounding the ride and leans against it. “You’ll find out in just a minute. But you _are_ riding the wheel. I won’t take no for an answer on this one.”

Cas leans against the fence next to him. “As you wish, Dean.” He sounds none too happy about it, but Dean’s hoping that’ll change once they get up in the air.

After everyone has been let off the wheel, Carl whistles over to Dean to let him know it’s time. They sneak back around the fence, bypassing the short line of people waiting. Dean lets Cas climb into the bucket first, holding onto his bag of cotton candy for him, then crawls in after him. Since Carl isn’t letting anyone else on the wheel, he starts the ride up as soon as they’re locked in.

The wheel turns slowly, taking them up to the apex and stopping at the top before they’ve made even one revolution. Cas looks out at the town around them, then turns to give Dean a puzzled look. “Why have we stopped before even going around once?”

Dean gives him a small smile. “Because I asked Carl to do this. So it’d give me a chance to explain.”

Cas narrows his eyes at him. “Explain what?”

Dean leans in closer and raises his arm to lay it across the back of the bucket and behind Cas. “I just... I know you miss flying, so I thought this might be the closest thing to it. Other than skydiving or hang-gliding, of course. Imma have to work up to those, so it’ll take me a few years or decades.”

He grins goofily at Cas, who’s watching him closely, a startled look on his face. “You asked this man to let us ride the wheel alone so I could feel like I was flying again?”

Dean feels his face flushing. “Well, yeah. I mean, I did a salt and burn for him a few years back, and he’s been practically shitting himself to pay me back for it. I knew he worked the wheel here, so I called in a favor. No big deal.” He shrugs.

“Dean, this...this is a _very_ big deal.” Cas leans forward, and places both hands on either side of Dean’s face. His fingers are sticky and coated with the cotton candy sugar, but the way Cas is looking at him, Dean could not care less, because Cas’s eyes are huge and wide, and liquid with affection Dean sometimes still thinks he doesn’t really deserve. He slots his lips against Dean’s, and whispers, “Thank you,” before diving in for a kiss.

Dean pulls away before it can deepen beyond anything with a PG-rating. “Hey, this isn’t all. There’s more to it.” He gently pushes Cas back into his seat and leans over the bucket, looking down to where Carl is standing and waiting. He whistles and waves to the man to let him know they’re ready.

Dean sits back and watches Cas’s face as music starts playing. When he hears the first notes of the song, Cas’s head snaps back to look at him as his eyes go wide. “You asked him to play my song? _Our_ song, that you hate?”

Dean chuckles as he plays with the neckline of Cas’s jacket. “I don’t _hate_ it. In fact, don’t ever tell Sam I said this, but the song kinda grew on me.” He smirks as his eyes meet Cas’s once more. “Besides, you said it made you feel like you were flying when you listened to it. I figured it’d help to listen to it when you’re here.”

Suddenly, they hear the gears start turning, and Dean pulls Cas back so that he’s not sitting forward and rocking the bucket too much. All the flood lights turn off and the twinkle lights begin blinking as the wheel starts moving. It slowly drops them forward, picking up momentum as they fall to the ground, wrapping back around and shooting them up to the stars and forward again, faster and faster. Wind picks up as they go, stirring Cas’s hair across his forehead and making it tickle Dean’s lashes as he leans in to kiss his friend’s neck.

The twinkle lights are dancing to the beat of the music, and Dean has to admit, it does seem kinda cool. The third time they reach the top and start falling back down, Cas laughs, and it’s the most gleeful laugh that Dean has ever heard escape his lips. He turns to Dean, his eyes sparkling and so fucking _happy_ , and he kisses him on the mouth, on his nose, his forehead, his cheeks, and finally his eyelids, forcing Dean to close them.

Once he stops, Dean opens his eyes to find Cas staring at him, his eyes wide with wonder, and licking his lips. Dean smiles at the look on his face. “What?”

Cas grins, his eyes crinkling in the corners and his nose scrunching up in that way that kills Dean softly every single time he sees it. “Your freckles taste like cotton candy.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs. “Maybe we should get ourselves a cotton candy maker so we can make other things on each other taste like cotton candy whenever we want.”

Cas licks his way back into Dean’s mouth, kissing him briefly but deeply before pulling away. He places a soft, wet kiss on his cheek one last time before turning to look out at the stars again. “I like this plan.”

 

 


End file.
